#sanditoncreative

[adamdalgliesh]

#LASHES #LASHES #LASHES

[wickanderhalovar]

[kalena-henden]

Sanditon Season 2

If you’re loving the first season so far, you can email PBS Masterpiece to tell them how much you love Sanditon and would like another season. I was going to wait until the end of the season to post this but when you love something or someone you can’t wait to express it. Go forth, fellow Sanditonians!

[email protected]

[sanditoncreative]

Dear Sanditonites and influenza quarantees: given the current fervor for in-door pleasurable activities, @sanditoncreative comes before you today to propose a new and exciting adventure. We promise clean, virtual and healthy in-door fun for all who join.

Embark on our horse drawn carriage to Sanditon. From the moment you take your seat you have 50 days to come up with 50 creations to pass the time until your arrival at our luxury accommodations courtesy of Tom “The Worst” Parker. To help you along, you will receive a tourist pack of 25 prompts that will need to feature prominently within your work to which you can add 25 of your own.  

This is open to both fanfiction writers and graphic artists alike, although the rules will be slightly altered to fit the two mediums.

Graphic Art:

I’m not sure if this format is something you’ve come across on Tumblr before now but it used to be somewhat popular on livejournal. The challenge was made for icon creation in particular but for the purposes of tumblr, we’re going to be extending that to gif sets, moodboards, fan vids and any other graphic art format you would like to use. If you want to do a mix of icons, gif sets, moodboards, that’s also permitted.

The gist is you have 50 days to come up with 25 creations fitting your chosen pack prompts as well as 25 more of your own choosing.

Fanfiction:

Sanditon has a very thriving fanfiction community so we really wanted you guys to participate in this challenge. However, given the different medium, we need to alter the goal somewhat.

Your goal for the 50 days is to incorporate all of the 25 prompts in your work. The formats can include drabbles, short stories, poetry or WIPs and the prompts can be titles, chapter names, feature within the work or just set the mood of the piece. The catch is you need to create 10 different pieces in 50 days. Whether they’re chapters in a WIP or standalones, that’s up to you. 

In order to give you even more artistic freedom, we’ve settled on two different tourist packs of 25 prompts each for you to choose from. Remember, though, that you need to stick to one of the two. You cannot mix and match so choose wisely.

The tourist packs are:

The Jane Austen special:

1.      Sense

2.      No two hearts so open

3.      Not handsome enough to tempt me

4.      Pride

5.      My feelings will not be repressed

6.      Truth universally acknowledged

7.      Prejudice

8.      Half agony, Half hope

9.      Such precious feelings

10.   Persuasion

11.   A proud, unpleasant sort of man

12.   A gentleman's daughter

13.   Sensibility

14.   Fond of dancing

15.   Fools in love

16.   Lady Susan

17.   Fine lady

18.   Mortified

19.   Felicitous

20.   Low spirits

21.   Taking the air

22.   Single man

23.   An exemplary vegetable

24.   Courtship

25.   An evening of wonders

And …

The “Not Brighton” seaside resort:

1.      Like a shell upon the beach

2.      Not a wave but a part of the ocean

3.      Salty breezes

4.      A seaside retreat

5.      Ship

6.      Fun in the sun

7.      Beach bunny

8.      Summer nights

9.      Bodies in the sand

10.   Somewhere beyond the sea

11.   Straight to her arms I'd go sailing

12.   Out of the gale

13.   The way the sunlight plays upon her hair

14.   These arms of mine

15.   She’s like the wind

16.   High Tide

17.   Hazard

18.   The summer where it all began

19.   Sun bathing

20.   Tan lines fade

21.   An afternoon stroll

22.   Live by the currents

23.   I want to try everything there is to try

24.   Gloried in the sea

25.   The last smiles of the year

This is an on-going challenge with not end date in sight. 

In order to enter, all you need to do is: 

announce on your blog that you are doing this challenge

let everyone know which pack you’ve chosen 

@ us at @sanditoncreative 

tag your post with #50 ways to sanditon

You can choose to post all your work in one go at the end of the 50 days or to do it in increments of your own choosing (daily, weekly, etc.). If you are going to do it incrementally, include in your posts the prompts you’ve used from your tourist pack so everyone knows your take on them.

In case you want to participate in the challenge and you don’t have a tumblr account, you can send us a message to our inbox and we will host your work directly on our blog.

And now for the fun part …

Once the 50 days are over, you’ve completed the challenge and you have finally arrived at your luxury accommodations at the spectacular Sanditon terrace apartments (fully fire insured! We promise! We swear!), as gratitude for your wonderful work you will receive a specially made icon and moodboard for your enjoyment with a Sanditon inspired theme of your own choosing.

If you have any questions about this challenge, please feel free to drop us a message and we will respond as quickly as we can. We know this is a new-ish format so it’s bound to create some confusion. 

Our public coach leaves every day and we hope to see you on board! Join us! It will be fun! We promise potential sightings of naked Sidney Parker and Young Stringer’s hat upon arrival!

Your Mods,

Lis x Lori

[jomiddlemarch]

Only fever and poetry provoke visions

Within a week of Charlotte’s retreat to Willingdon, it seemed a plague had come to Sanditon. It began with a catarrh and an insidious enervation, a growing pallor and a vicious fever that racked the sufferer with blazes and shaking chills. It took hold among the working folk, whose poor diets and drafty homes made them vulnerable, the old and the young stricken first, but it was blind to class and station. It made its way to the tradesmen, the gentry, even to the great houses; Sanditon House and Trafalgar House and Arundel Park, the estate Lord Babington had let, all had their afflicted. After only a few days, Arundel Park’s garden was overgrown, missing the assiduous care of its gardener, the tea was late at Sanditon House and the Trafalgar House was loud with the cried of the unattended children and then, as they fell ill, Alicia first and then the rest, most terribly quiet.

After first, Dr. Fuchs had not been troubled. He’d prescribed tonics and broths, calf’s foot jelly and calendula compresses; he had seen fevers come and go, run their course, carry off babes in the cradle and the elderly grandam whose age was beyond recall. He’d offered reassurance, calmly, confidently, as it was not smallpox and not the blue death. But the days passed and more fell ill, the babies but also the sturdy ten year olds, apple-cheeked nursemaids and housemaids and Cooks no one would dare dispute, the wiry coxswain of the foreman’s team from the Regatta, Lady Denham’s implacable butler, the younger Miss Beaufort crying out for her mother and trying to weave a garland of blossoms she plucked from the air. He had thought he could manage and by the time he knew he couldn’t, he was not sure who would come to help. Sanditon was not Bath and despite Mr. Tom Parker’s efforts, it had not yet shed its reputation as a poor imitation of an elegant town; physicians would not come flocking when there were so few eminent patients. Dr. Fuchs was a man of science, but he began to pray with the desperate devotion his childhood pastor would have commended.

At first, Mary Parker had not been troubled. She’d nursed her sisters and brother through fevers and agues at home at Broadwater and they’d all come through. It was said in her family she had the touch, passed down from a great-grandmother who’d been known to brew a tea from herbs that could bring a man back from the brink, a sense of what the patient needed—now a blanket, now a draught of spirits steeped with boneset and mint, disgusting of course, but effective. She’d carried five babes and birthed four and she hadn’t worried overmuch about Alicia or Henry, not when they pushed away cakes dusted with sugar. Not when they woke in the night afraid of fiery monsters. The third morning they lay in their beds, too listless to rise, to fret, still as Jenny’s china dolls, Mary began to be afraid. When Sunday came, not one of the children was well enough to attend church, not well enough to leave to the care of the housemaid. Tom was blithe as ever, his temperament constitutionally ill-prepared for disaster, and thus was no help. Mary wrung her hands and mixed up medicines with a spoon full of honey and wished for a prie-dieu, made do with the rag rug beside Jenny’s low bed.

Sidney had not left for London as he’d planned. Eliza had departed Sanditon as quickly as she could, returning to her stylish town-house in London, her fashionable barouche, and the reliable rigors of the ton. Sidney dreaded it all; the prospect of a loveless marriage rendered the delights of the beau monde as sawdust, its tedium sure to be excruciating without Charlotte’s bright eyes sharing a glance; he remembered how acutely she’d mimicked him in the street and knew she would have made him laugh the night through with her mockery of the high and mighty and those who very much wished to be. When he closed his eyes, he saw her face again at their final parting, her cheeks streaked with tears, the shadow cast by her bonnet’s brim nothing to the ones beneath her eyes. Her sweet mouth had been held tight—to keep from trembling? To remind him he had forfeited any right to a farewell kiss, even the softest brush of his lips against hers, little enough to sustain him through all the long years yet to come without her. He could not bear to join Eliza in the city, a far cry from the decade ago when it had been his heart’s one desire, one he’d been sure would never change, both in the wanting and the being denied. Now, neither was true and he knew what a young fool he’d been. What an old fool he was becoming, at his best as a fond uncle to Tom’s children. And yet, he could do little for them now that they sick in their beds, Mary increasingly tense and drawn. He ferried bowls of broth and possets they turned their heads from and coaxed spoonfuls in with promises of a seaside adventure; he visited the near-empty shops and oversaw the household accounts. He kept Tom occupied and sat with him at meals neither wanted. He ordered Georgiana a half-a-dozen new books from London and kept her from Trafalgar House, hoping to spare her the illness. It was everything he could think of to do—and it was not enough.

Cook soldiered on but Betty, the nursemaid, fell ill as did Sally the housemaid and Reynolds the butler. The children were listless, growing too weak to cry, and Mary’s hair streamed down her back, her eyes red-rimmed. Tom began to look worried. Sidney stopped responding to Eliza’s letters, unable to think of what else he could say to make her understand why he could not leave. The morning Jenny tried to build a sandcastle on her white counterpane, batting at the cotton in frustration, Mary looked up at Sidney from the child’s bedside and spoke.

“I’ve written, I’ve asked Charlotte to return. I don’t know what else to do, they cry for her so.”

Sidney did not try to parse his emotions, not then, not as Jenny whined for a cockleshell, her piping voice a rasp.

“Will she come, do you think?”

“Her note said no later than tomorrow.”

No later than tomorrow. Sidney felt the time rushing toward him like an incoming tide, rushing out again. Jenny was suddenly very quiet and Sidney wondered whether tomorrow would even come at all. He didn’t want Charlotte sick, fevered, and he couldn’t imagine another day at Trafalgar House, in Sanditon, without her.

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

Miss You

For @sanditoncreative Candy Hearts & Tropey Starts Pairings: Sidney/Charlotte Prompt: Miss You (and my own favourite Austen-romance trope: handwritten letters full of feels) Rating: G Synopsis: It isn’t easy to miss someone once you’ve held them.

Also available on AO3

Rain drops on the window and dark clouds could fill even the most joyful spirit with melancholy. Focussing her gaze beyond the window, she watched the waves consume almost the entirety of the beach.

A lone seagull raked through the sky, fighting against the wind as he spread his wings towards the open sea.

In her mind, Charlotte travelled alongside the seagull, across foaming waves and whirlpools, to a boat riding the streams with determination.

Her eyes slipped shut, imagining Sidney’s strong brow and handsome face grim with determination, one force of nature against the other.

Her fingers lifted towards the window, reaching forward as she imagined his wet face, the same as it had been the day she’d bumped into him at the cove.

As her fingertips bumped against the cold window. His face would be cold because of the rain and wind as well.

She missed him. The sight of him had always managed to fill her heart with a certain delight. She’d never really given attention to how her heart felt before falling in love, but now she was constantly aware of it. It was a sensitive organ, sometimes beating fast, and sometimes very slow. Sometimes she could even feel it stop, and sometimes she felt like it could simply explode with joy and love.

Right now she could distinguish the odd hollow feeling she usually only suffered in the dark at night, as she lay alone in her cold big bed. Those were the times the lack of him hit her the hardest.

Because she could recall with exact precision the way the bed dipped underneath his weight, and the way she curled against him to absorb his heat. Their bed had been their haven, the place where he felt most at ease to tell her how he felt. The place where he managed to drag the highest of highs out of Charlotte as she yielded to his touch.

In their room, there was only ever them. The outside world ,the silly world and society’s rules remained firmly at the door.

Perhaps that was why being alone in the room that embodied the heart of their house and relationship hurt more.

Her fingers slipped down the window.

Where was he right now? Was he thinking of her as well?

Her reverie was perturbed by a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’

‘You got a letter’, Georgiana smiled as she walked over to her.

‘It’s tea time by the way, you should come downstairs.’

Charlotte nodded with a smile.

‘After I read the letter.’

‘Don’t take too long. I want to take my tea with you and I loathe cold tea. Also, the cake is fresh out of the oven, and I prefer to eat it while it’s still hot.’

‘The longer you talk to me, the longer it’ll be before I come down’, Charlotte teased.

Georgiana rolled her eyes and walked away.

The letter was stained, with paler splotches here and there. Sea salt, Charlotte concluded. In need slanted writing in black pen stood her name. Her index finger trailed over the letters, halting at the blotched P of her surname.

He’d promised her he’d write to her each time they stopped somewhere.

And he had fulfilled that promise perfectly. She had a small chest with twenty envelopes in it right beside her bed, to reread when she got too lonely at night.

She quickly, but carefully, opened the letter.

“To my dearest Admiral Charlotte                                                                                      3/05/18—”

 Charlotte bit her lip. He’d taken to calling her a new term of endearment with every letter he wrote. It had been over half a year since he’d called her Admiral Heywood. The last time had been during the summer. Back when she’d first gotten to know him. How much had changed since then! But she would not forget the first time he ever called her that as they had their boat race with the children. She looked up to the ceiling as her breathing became unsteady. Gods, how she missed him!

She took a minute to take a deep breath and collect herself before continuing.

 “It is with no small amount of pleasure that I can announce my last letter. We’ve stopped in our final port for the travel. All our work is done. The next stop shall be London.

In five days, I shall be home again. Nothing remarkable happened since the last letter. The weather was pleasant, and the sea was mostly calm. I have no reason to suspect a storm shall hit us during the last leg of our journey. We also don’t need to pass any traitorous streams or sandbanks. These are trusted waters, and there is no reason to fear. Though I doubt not you shall make up your own mind despite of what I think.

After the amount of letters I’ve been obliged to send you, I’m afraid I’ve run out of things to say. Except perhaps a last and final thought I haven’t voiced to you yet. It’s been one and a half month since I’ve had to leave you because of business, which is almost half our marriage. The only other time I’ve missed you for longer than that, was during the dark months before our reconciliation. I wrongly assumed that knowing we were reunited forever now, despite some temporary distance, would lessen the sorrow of being parted from you. But as I now know you better than I have ever before, I have become keenly aware of exactly what I miss. Make no mistake, my life was worth nothing without you, but nothing could have prepared me for what I feel now.

Charlotte, I miss you. I can’t wait to be back home. I’m counting down the days, and I’m not afraid to say my men shall suffer if Poseidon intervenes and prolongs my time away from you. Since I won’t stop at another shore, you can save all your colourful stories and ardent declarations of love for when you see me again. I’d rather you show me how much you missed me.

If you missed me anywhere as much as I missed you, I know our reunion shall be even more spectacular than our wedding night.

Affectionately yours,

Your second-in-command”

[parkerheywood]

to be alone with you.

fandom: Sanditon

pairing: sidney x charlotte

rating: explicit

words: 2953

chapters: 1/1

summary: 

Charlotte Parker has some news to share.

additional tags: smut + fluff, childhood feels, honeymoon phase

LINK

My very first Sanditon fanfic!!! It’s also the first story I write that it’s set in the 19th century so I’m very excited to share this with you. 

 A very special thanks to my lovely beta @breefraser 

[wickanderhalovar]

a charlotte heywood nose freckles appreciation post